A Squishable Man

I happened to notice that Joe Manganiello has a very defined, well-formed physique.

I thought having an eight-pack was physically impossible, but according to Google images, it’s not. As much as I appreciate Joe’s physicality, I think hugging him would be like hugging a brick wall. I suppose you have to decide for yourself if the brick burn would be worth it.

That’s why I was doing a Google image search. I wanted to see if he was always made out of bricks.

Yes, sometimes I spend my evenings doing intensive research like this. What of it?

And if I’m such a thorough researcher, where’s the image of him, you ask? Well, I didn’t want to exploit him more than he already has been. The guy is more than his muscles, right…??

Anyways, I discovered that I couldn’t find an everyday, average body on the guy. He wasn’t always so sculpted, but apparently, he has always been…healthy.

I actually prefer a man with a little bit of squish to him.

I’ve talked about the subject of hugging before. Wine Guy was a 9 out of 10. Yes, he disappeared on me, but I still have to give him his props. But he wasn’t a perfect 10. That score goes to a guy I met briefly at a dinner party, years ago. I almost forgot about him. When we hugged goodbye, I discovered that his whole body was made out of memory foam.

Ah…

I have no idea what made him that way. He was deceptively normal looking.

“He was so soft…” I remarked to my then-boyfriend, who strangely enough, had nothing to say in response. Nor did he have anything to say about my hand gestures as I tried to further describe the guy’s squishiness.

The only things Perfect Hug Guy and Wine Guy had in common were their average weight for their height (about 5’7″) and that they probably didn’t work out at all.

Hm.

This may warrant some further intensive research.

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Postscript: It has come to my attention that I have been spending way too much energy wondering about the location and appearance of my future man/men. The fact is, there is no telling when he/they will show up. A gentle nudging from my friend Mae woke me up. It’s a good thing, too – disappointment was beginning to chip away at me.

So I’m redirecting my energy towards the here and now and giving nonexistent men a rest. I have more pressing issues to deal with anyways, like finding a new job, so from now on, my future posts won’t be about me getting impatient for that guy who is running super late.

I guess he’ll just have to catch up to me.

Lions and Tigers and Thighs, Oh My

Ever since I got back from Hawaii, my legs and I have seen the light. These burritos ‘o mine are now wearing running shorts. It’s somewhat liberating to make visible something I had intentionally kept invisible in the past. To let myself be seen. As is.

When I had it – at least I thought I had it at some point – I should have flaunted it. I took my young, firm skin for granted. But I was much more shy back then. Now? Yes, I’m still an introvert at heart, but I don’t look too bad for my age, so part of me wants to flaunt whatever it is I have left while gravity is still my friend. I have ab muscles. I don’t know where they came from, and they might look a little like a wrinkly four-pack of King’s Hawaiian rolls during the rising process, but they’re there. I believe that they’re a product of my intense overthinking. After all, something good should come of overworking my brain in circles. Problem is, I might look good for 48 – we Asians hold together well – but not so good for 38. Get my drift?

[I can’t believe I just outed my real age. Oh, what the hell. I will display my age proudly. I just won’t display photos of it here on my blog. I may be crazy, but I’m not insane. Yet.]

See, I live in a small, coastal town. It doesn’t get warm enough to wear shorts very often, so people don’t see a lot of skin around here. Hawaii? No problem. Young skin, aging skin – what does it matter? Everyone looks like bronzed demi-gods over there. But here? People pull on their t-shirts, light wash jeans, sneakers, and their Patagonia jackets to go out on the town. They might even wear that outfit to the beach.

The sun is out and it is unusually warm. I am tempted to go for a run wearing less clothing than I ever have before. I want to feel free to do this. If I didn’t have to wear my glasses, I would absolutely wear sunglasses. That way, I could feel anonymous. I might mistake a fire hydrant for a dog, but if it makes me more brave, I will trade clear vision for shades. I’m sure I’ll be able to determine whether or not that object coming towards me is a car, right? Maybe I need a sacrificial running buddy.

Suddenly, I’m not so concerned about my thighs anymore.